Peculiar Forestalling
by skrewtkeeper
Summary: Albus sees Minerva and wonders if she can sense it too. An AD/MM fic, where the MMAD-ness continues....


_A/n:_ _This may not be my best, but I feel as though I've done a pretty decent job on it, considering the small detail that it was around 12:00 AM last night I was writing this. :D Please R & R! :D_

**Peculiar Forestalling**

I smile slightly as her eyes grace my own. Such an exotic color they are, though she does not know this. I tremble when she stands next to me, and yet, she does not know. She does not know how deep my feelings are, or how long they have remained hidden. Of course, she does not know. She _cannot_ know of such treachery of an emotion such as this.

Her laugh is as the sound of church bells, but she does not know this. She waves all of my compliments away and even strikes humor about them. Does she underestimate my truthfulness on this matter? I have lied once to her, and once only. The lie is now unimportant, for I am certain that she has forgotten the whole fiasco that occurred that day. How could she think that I would play with her heart so inconsiderately? Oh, I could never do that to my poor Minerva.

I cry for her when her days turn out to be stressful ones, but she does not know this. I pity her tired eyes and the way her duties pile on her as a poison that sweeps through her very soul. I am the most happy when she is, but she does not know this. She cannot know this, and cannot know of how much I truly do care, for that would be silly. She does not know, because she _cannot_ know.

"Albus, what are you staring at?" she asks, slightly smirking at my apparent, dazed look. I blush and smile at the same time. Oh, how I wish she knew!

"Nothing in particular," I mutter cheerfully, glad that she is by my side, even if there _is_ one thing she does not know.

She laughs at this very curious statement. Sometimes I wonder if she knows. A trick of the light perhaps, though I cannot help but wonder if the irregular light that suddenly shines behind her gaze is of that mirrored emotion that I experience when seeing her and thinking about her. Could this be pure and wholesome love? Could she actually share something as grand as this with me? Could she actually love _me_ as in the way I do her?

But, alas, no. Just as I had expected. A shadow forms over the two of us, and Minerva lets go of my hand as another offers his own. Light shines ever so brightly from her eyes as she accepts the young gentleman's invitation to dance. I snap my fingers in defeat as I watch her depart from my side, and I cannot help but feel an empty hole in my heart where Minerva had been firmly planted, despite the happiness I feel for her finding a love at such a young age. I smile as her gaze wavers from the young man's face and lingers for a second over mine. She feels guilty, perhaps, at having another sweeping her away instead of I? No, it couldn't be. Her smile is genuine, as I feared it to be, and her laugh sounds the same, and not irate and irritated. Yes, an old codger like me was too late, for old does not think as young thinks.

I turn away, rejecting many invitations to dance with other women in my wake. Could they not see that Minerva and Minerva only held my heart? Could they not see how great the pain was for me to bear? Of course, they could not. All these other women saw a dance with _The_ Albus Dumbledore and nothing more nor nothing less. Minerva was not like this, and this was why she held my heart in her hands. Her beautiful, wonderful, and graceful hands. If only _I_ was to be that young gentleman in the crowd with whom she was dancing, and then maybe, possibly, I could confess my love to her.

But, alas, no once again. She does not know that every twirl that I glimpse of her causes my heart to flutter. The way she moves is intoxicating, and I can bear no more images of her dancing so flawlessly. I retreat outside into the gardens where no one exists, and leave a tear for her on a white rose. One day, I ponder, Minerva is going to need that rose with the single tear I left for her, and no more. One day, she will come to her senses, just as I know she will, for she is a woman of such a sharp mind, and a lovely heart. Until that day, I shall be waiting forevermore.


End file.
